


want to remember

by copperwings



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fictober, M/M, halloween is coming so slight spook factor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperwings/pseuds/copperwings
Summary: When he gets closer, something catches his eye.  Otabek hesitates at the sight in front of him, coming to a halt between the trees near the cabin.There is someone circling the house. It’s a person dressed in a light gray cloak that’s like nothing Otabek has ever seen before. The long cloak reaches down to the ground and the hem seems to flow and move around even though there is no wind. The hooded figure walks around the cabin, peeking in through the windows as if looking for something.“Can I help you?” Otabek calls, emerging from the forest.The figure turns and pushes the hood back in one fluid motion, bare hands quickly retreating back inside the cloak. It’s a man, his blond hair falling to his shoulders. His age is hard to pinpoint but if Otabek had to guess he’d say the man standing in front of him is younger than him.





	want to remember

There’s something magical about the first snow of winter.

Otabek doesn’t usually get to witness it, because in Almaty the heat from the buildings melts the snow before it hits the ground. This time, however, he’s come to the family cabin late in the fall, to breathe in some fresh mountain air and to do some high-altitude training before the season kicks in.

The little house sits on the mountainside among the trees, the last in a long line of cabins extending from the ski resort that’s located on the mountain. This time of year, most of the cabins are empty, because it’s neither summer camping nor winter skiing season. Driving up to the cabin, Otabek spots only one or two columns of smoke rising from the other houses on the hillside.

It’s quiet up here, and the cool morning air stings his face as Otabek goes for a morning jog. He’s been up here for a couple of days and it’s getting colder all the time. It’s almost unseasonably cold, he thinks as he shivers on the porch of the cabin, jumping up and down to wake his legs from their early-morning slumber.

Snow starts falling when he’s running uphill in the forest.

Otabek slows down to a walk and looks up. The white flakes descend between the branches of the trees, floating down in the stillness around him. The forest is quiet as if it’s holding its breath at the sight. Snow sticks to branches and dots the ground, the fluffy flakes perching on the undergrowth and moss until there is a translucent white layer covering the forest floor.

Otabek walks a bit farther up the hill, admiring the sight of the forest wrapping itself in a blanket of white.

Soon, he starts to feel the cold that comes with the snow and turns back. His breaths cloud around his mouth and he keeps brushing off snow that’s gathering on his clothes.

Halfway down the hill, Otabek stops, squinting ahead in the snowfall. The forest looks unfamiliar dressed partially in white, and he’s not sure if he’s going to walk past the cabin without seeing it. Then he spots the smoke rising from the fire he left in the fireplace. He follows the pillar of smoke, thankful that he left the fire burning even though his father says it’s hazardous to leave a fire unwatched.

When he gets closer, something catches his eye.  Otabek hesitates at the sight in front of him, coming to a halt between the trees near the cabin.

There is someone circling the house. It’s a person dressed in a light gray cloak that’s like nothing Otabek has ever seen before. The long cloak reaches down to the ground and the hem seems to flow and move around even though there is no wind. The hooded figure walks around the cabin, peeking in through the windows as if looking for something.

“Can I help you?” Otabek calls, emerging from the forest.

The figure turns and pushes the hood back in one fluid motion, bare hands quickly retreating back inside the cloak. It’s a man, his blond hair falling to his shoulders. His age is hard to pinpoint but if Otabek had to guess he’d say the man standing in front of him is younger than him.

Otabek steps closer, studying the man’s features.

His hair is very fair and the falling snow is dotting it in white now that the hood is lowered. His features are sharp and defined, his eyes green with a hint of icy blue in them. There is something weird about him, but Otabek can’t quite grasp what it is.

The eyes measure Otabek. “I’m cold,” the man says.

Otabek startles at the voice, because it’s one of those voices that drills into his skull but once it’s gone he can’t recall what it sounded like. It reminds him of windchimes and the way snow crunches when stepped on. Thinking about the words, he’s not entirely sure what language was spoken, but he knows he understood the words clear as day.

Otabek hesitates. He doesn’t know anything about this stranger, but there is an aura of sadness in his posture and in the depths of his eyes, and Otabek can’t turn him away.

“Um,” Otabek says. “I have a fire inside. Would you like to come in for a moment?”

All he gets in response is a nod.

Otabek leads the way to the front door. The snowfall is heavier now, the visibility around the cabin reduced to a few yards in all directions. Otabek opens the front door and allows the figure in gray to walk in.

Otabek realizes what was bothering him when he steps inside and turns to pull the door shut behind him.

He looks at the front porch where the snowy imprints of his running shoes follow his trail to the door.

Only one set of footprints.

The stranger left no footprints in the snow, and thinking back, Otabek doesn’t recall his breath clouding around his face either.

Otabek turns to look where the cloaked stranger is now crouched in the heat of the fire, extending his pale hands toward the flames.

Otabek inhales shakily and closes the door.

What has he invited into the cabin with him?

At the click of the lock, the stranger turns and regards Otabek with his curious eyes. “Thank you.” His voice is the whisper of the wind on a freezing winter night, and it chills Otabek to the bone.

“It’s no problem,” Otabek says, and his voice trembles. He wonders if the fear in his tone is audible.

His guest settles on the floor in front of the fireplace, and his cloak pools around him smoothly like the still surface of a gray lake. Everything about him—his movements, his hair and his clothing—is too perfect, like he hasn’t bothered to learn what imperfection is.

_What are you?_

The question lingers on Otabek’s tongue, but he swallows it down. His mind flickers to the folklore stories his mother used to tell him. In them the otherworldly creatures never respond well to questions. Either they get angry or use the poor human’s curiosity to lure them into a trap.

Otabek worries he might never leave the mountain, so he keeps his mouth shut and sits across the room, his eyes fixed on the creature basking in the warmth of the fireplace.

Otabek is sweaty from his jog, and sitting in the opposite corner from the fireplace, he soon gets chilly. He tugs his sleeves over his hands to cover his trembling fingers. He’s not sure if it’s because of the cold or because he is terrified of the man he foolishly invited inside.

Two pale hands extend from the gray cloak, reaching out toward the flames. Otabek hears a hissing noise that may be a content sigh, or perhaps a sign that he’s about to get dragged into the land of the fae.

After a moment, the man turns to look at Otabek over his shoulder. The blue-green eyes regard him as if measuring something. “You’re cold,” he observes.

“It’s nothing,” Otabek says.

“Come here, it’s warmer near the fire.” The creature pats the spot beside him, and the gray cloak ripples under his touch.

“I’m fine,” Otabek claims, trying to sound convincing.

To his surprise, the man smiles. On one hand, the smile makes him look less scary, but there is an edge of danger in it. It’s like watching a wild animal, Otabek realizes. They are fascinating to watch, but they can go feral without warning. He doesn’t want to sit next to one when that happens.

“My name is Yuri,” the creature continues.

Otabek blinks. He’s heard one should never give a true name to otherworldlings in case they misuse it. “I’m… Beka,” he says slowly. Surely a nickname is better than his actual name.

The icy cold eyes are on him. Yuri tilts his head slowly to the side. “That’s not your real name, though.”

“No.”

“You’re worried.” Yuri sounds amused, and Otabek finds himself less and less scared by the second. Now, with a name and a hint of a smile on his face, Yuri looks human, almost like any young man Otabek could come across.

_No_ , he scolds himself. _It’s a trap. He didn’t leave footprints in the snow. He’s not of this world._

“What do you want?” Otabek asks slowly.

Yuri turns back to face the fire. He raises his hand and studies it against the glow of the fire. “I just wanted to remember,” he says.

“Remember what?” Otabek asks.

“What it’s like to be warm. What it’s like to be alive.”

Otabek’s surprised inhale gets stuck in his throat.

For a moment, the only sound is the crackling of the fire, and in the stunned silence, Otabek realizes Yuri doesn’t breathe.

At all.

But how does he speak without breathing?

That would explain the voice that sounds like it’s coming everywhere and nowhere, like the hum and sigh of trees in the middle of a forest.

“Do you drink tea?” Otabek blurts out.

Yuri’s perfect eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Tea is warm,” Otabek says. It’s so stupid. He is an idiot, because instead of bolting out of the cabin and driving away as fast as he can, he is sitting here with someone who by their own admission is not alive. And he’s offering them tea?

Otabek deserves to be dragged into the land of the fae.

There is something hungry in Yuri’s eyes as he looks at Otabek. “Tea would be nice.”

Otabek goes to the kitchen to make tea. As he waits for the kettle to boil his heart is pounding. Every second he’s sure Yuri is going to appear behind him and Otabek will end up like him, dead and wandering the mountainside with cold eyes and perfectly flowing cape masking his figure.

When he comes back, Yuri is sitting in the same spot, hands extended toward the fire. Otabek hesitates in the kitchen doorway, two tea mugs in his hands, and then approaches cautiously. The fabric of Yuri’s cape ripples when Otabek steps near, and the silky material looks impossibly soft. Otabek has to fight down an urge to touch it.

Their fingers brush when Yuri reaches out to take the tea, and the touch is like ice on Otabek’s skin. He startles and pulls his hand back.

Yuri’s eyes are wide as he wraps his fingers around the mug. “Thank you.”

Otabek settles in the armchair, which is closer to the fire but still a good distance away from Yuri. Yuri slumps smaller and huddles over his tea, both hands around the mug like he’s sucking warmth out of the porcelain. Even if he makes Otabek’s hair stand on end, there is also sadness in his posture.

“What happened to you?” Otabek asks before he catches himself.

Yuri stares into his tea for a moment, then his gaze slides to Otabek. “I died.”

Otabek swallows a sense of anxiety that’s forming a lump in his throat. “How?”

“I froze and became one with winter.”

A winter fae.

Otabek has heard stories of the winter fae. They were once human, but they froze to death and the winter claimed them.

“I’m born of the first snow.” Yuri’s voice is a soft, fluttery whisper like snowflakes falling on mossy ground. “When the spring arrives, I will disappear.”

Even without a human voice, he sounds so forlorn that Otabek blinks a few times to banish the strange sensation twisting his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek says.

In the silence that follows, Otabek is painfully aware of the sound of his own breaths where Yuri produces none, and the way Yuri holds onto his tea but doesn’t drink it.

“What do you want from me?” Otabek asks. In the middle of his bout of sympathy, he still knows enough stories to understand that inviting a fae into his house is never without repercussions.

Yuri lowers his tea to the floor. “What are you willing to offer?”

It’s a loaded question. Otabek considers it for a moment. “I’m offering you the warmth of my fireplace and some tea,” he says.

Yuri smiles. “You’re clever.” His voice cracks like thin ice on puddles when stepped on, and Otabek never thought that would sound like laughter but it does. “How about your warmth?” Yuri asks, and Otabek’s heart starts pounding so loudly Yuri must hear it.

“No,” Otabek says. “I want to live.”

There’s that amused sound of thin ice cracking again. “How about a hug?”

Otabek blinks. “A hug,” he repeats, confused. A winter fae wants a hug. “Does it come with strings attached?”

Yuri shakes his head. “No. I just want to borrow your warmth for a second.” He rises from the floor and it’s like he lacks bones and joints, because the movement is so fluid. “No harm will come to you.”

“Is that a promise?” Otabek shivers, remembering the icy sensation when their fingers brushed.

Yuri’s eyes are solemn. “I promise.”

Otabek sets his tea mug on the arm of the chair and gets up. His heart is trying to pound its way out of his chest, but there is a hint of curiosity mixed into the sense of dread.

Yuri steps closer, and Otabek finds himself engulfed in the gray cloak in an embrace that’s unlike any hug he’s ever received before.

It’s cold, colder than Otabek has ever felt in his life. It’s the touch of ice scraping bare skin when he falls while skating. It’s chilly winter morning jogs. It’s nights when he’s so tired that no number of blankets seems to be enough when he finally makes it to bed. It’s all things cold and dark, but it’s also something else.

It’s bright winter mornings and untouched planes of white as far as the eye can see. It’s powdery snow and that first inhale upon stepping outside to the below-freezing temperature. It’s everything that is beautiful about winter, and everything that makes it so deadly.

For a moment, Otabek is one with winter, and everything else seems irrelevant.

Yuri’s lips brush his cheek like a single snowflake falling on his skin. “Thank you. Now I remember what it was like.”

Otabek watches wordlessly as Yuri glides to the door of the cabin and opens it. Outside, the snowfall has ceased, and a light dusting of snow remains.

Yuri pulls his hood up and walks into the snowy landscape, vanishing without a trace.

Warmth returns to Otabek’s limbs, but there is a thin icicle rooted somewhere deep in his heart, and suddenly he understands why the stories warn people about inviting the fae in.

It’s not that they _force_ people to follow them into their realms of death and magic.

It’s that they make people want to go there _voluntarily_ , and that’s even more dangerous.

Yuri promised no harm would come to him, but Otabek has an uncanny feeling that some deep part of him was stolen during their brief touch; some part of him went with Yuri to the snowy mountain, and he’s never going to get it back.

Unless he goes looking for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the fictober prompt "warmth", and inspired by the song [Winter Bird by AURORA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYFNzSTVvJk).  
> -  
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com).


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